


Spoken

by Seraph_Novak



Series: Destiel One-Shots [27]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Human Castiel, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Season/Series 12, Sam Ships It, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 17:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12562960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraph_Novak/pseuds/Seraph_Novak
Summary: After realizing that Sam was right about his feelings for Cas, Dean tries to figure out the best way to tell him. But when a hunt goes wrong, he fears it might be too late...  This is a follow-up to the previous fic in the one-shot series, but can be read as a standalone story.





	Spoken

**Author's Note:**

> A few people requested a second part to my latest one-shot, so here it is! Dean finally has the balls to tell Cas how he feels. Fluffiness ensues! 
> 
> As always, all kudos and comments are very much appreciated. Thanks for reading :) ♥

Cas had been staring at him for over an hour, ever since they'd taken their positions in the corn field surrounding the supposedly abandoned farmhouse in the middle of fuck all. It was the perfect place for vamps to lay low, too far from the nearest town to be overly exposed, but close enough to the road to attract passing hitchhikers and runaway kids looking for some place to crash. Dean had jumped at the chance for a good old fashioned stake-out, and Cas had naturally offered to keep him company. Being alone with the guy - especially after his conversation with Sam the other week - was a risky move, but he couldn't exactly say no.

Skip forward a few hours, and here they were, waiting for the vamps to emerge from their hideout once the sun had finally set. Cas hadn't said much since they'd hit the road, but he'd done a fine job at communicating through nothing but probing stares and narrowed eyes. Dean could tell he was aware of the added tension between them lately. He just hoped that Cas wouldn't ask him about it, or God forbid already know the reason why it was there in the first place. He wasn't ready to face the aftermath just yet, not when he was still pretty new to the idea of being in love with Cas himself. He needed time to figure things out. Though having Cas' eyes constantly boring into the side of his head really wasn't making it that much easier.

"Dude," he said, tightening his grip on the serrated blade in his hand. "Will you quit looking at me like that?"

Cas ducked his head. "My apologies, Dean. I'm just..."

"You're just what?"

"I'm sorry," he said, taking Dean by surprise. "Sam told me about your conversation a few days ago. That's why I wanted to come with you today, to talk to you about it. To apologise, I suppose."

Dean's stomach dropped. He'd known that Sam was getting a little impatient, but telling Cas before he got the chance to do it himself? That was just cold. He wasn't prepared to have this discussion right now, not in the middle of a fucking hunt. Maybe he could brush it off, pretend that Sam was just pulling his leg. It was a stupid prank, nothing more. Cas would buy it, as long as he wanted him to. He could put this off for a few more weeks, until the time was right. There was no need to jump into the deep end so soon, not when he was still learning how to fucking paddle.

"Look, Cas. It's not what you think... He was just messing around. Don't listen to the big lug."

"No, this is serious," Cas said, his signature frown shifting into place. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and readied himself for the emotional shit-storm that was about to go down.

"Cas..."

"I'm sorry for leaving my socks in the kitchen."

Dean snapped his mouth shut, the excuses and denials dying on his tongue. "Say what now?"

"My socks," Cas repeated, his words heavy with shame. "I know I can be a terrible house guest at times, and you have every right to be frustrated with me. I'm still trying to adjust to this human way of life. It's no excuse, I realise, but I hope you can forgive me all the same. I'll try my best not to make a mess in the bunker ever again. I promise."

Dean blinked a few times. Cas' revelation was pretty anti-climatic, and he wasn't quite sure what to do with that. All he could say was, "Um."

"Are we okay?" Cas asked after a moment of awkward silence. "Do you forgive me?"

Dean frantically weighed out his options in his head. This was the moment he either manned up and told Cas the truth, or snatched up the out he'd been given and kept on pretending. It would be so easy to let Cas believe that his socks were the main cause for concern, to forgive him for being a slob and carry on like nothing else was wrong, but was he really willing to do that? Would he ever have a better opportunity to tell Cas how he really felt after this moment? What if it was now or never? Was risking a potentially awesome life with Cas worth a few more weeks of ignorant bliss?

His eyes glimpsed a flash of yellow below Cas' trouser leg - a tiny bee buzzing against a sea of black fabric - and it suddenly seemed so simple. He'd spent the better half of ten years denying his feelings for Cas, but not anymore. He couldn't go another decade not knowing what real happiness feels like, not when it was standing right in front of him. What selfish sonofabitch would throw away the one thing that most people spend their entire lives searching for? He was the luckiest man in the world, and he was done feeling sorry for himself.

"Cas," he whispered, reaching forward to touch the guy's leg. "I need to tell you something."

But before he got the chance to elaborate, a blur of movement pulsed from the corn behind them, grabbing Cas in one fell swoop and throwing him across the field. Dean watched in horror as Cas hit the ground like a ragdoll, his body going limp the moment his head smacked the earth.

"Cas!" Dean cried. He tried to move towards him, but strong hands dragged him back, throwing him to the ground with ease. Dark eyes, glittering with amusement, stared down at him.

"Your kind isn't welcome here," the vamp said. "We have a no hunters policy. I'm sure you can understand."

Dean lifted himself up by his elbows and glared at the monster, his top lip twitching with barely concealed rage. The vamp looked like a man in his twenties, dressed in all black, with a mop of dark hair falling from the gel cast he'd coated it in. His eyes searched for the blade he'd dropped during his fall. It was out of reach, hidden by a fallen piece of corn behind the vamp's feet. If he could somehow flip their positions, even for just a second, he could probably grab it in time to make this a fair fight.

"I didn't get the memo," he said, using sarcasm in an effort to distract the vamp from killing him just yet. "You should probably put up a sign or something, make that a little more clear, you know?"

The vamp sniggered. "So, you finally caught onto us, huh? It only took half a dozen kills to get your attention."

"Guess I'm getting sloppy in my old age."

"Hunters are a dying breed. You should consider a different career."

"Good idea," Dean said, planting his hands behind him as he slowly sat up. "How about you let me and my friend go, and I'll start circling newspapers as soon as we hit the next town?"

"Can't do that, I'm afraid," the vamp took a step closer, his pale lips lifting in a growl to reveal a row of white fangs. "Rules are rules, pretty boy."

"Fair enough."

With one swipe, Dean kicked the vamp's legs out from under him. He took the opportunity to lunge forward and grab the blade, it's sharp edges slicing his palm in the process. He gritted his teeth and turned on his heels. The vamp was already standing again, his fangs on full display now.

"You shouldn't have done that," he hissed.

Dean lifted his blade, ready for a fight, and shrugged. "You shouldn't have hurt my angel."

The vamp slid his tongue over his teeth and charged. Dean rolled to the left just in time, his boots skidding across the dirt. He touched the ground to steady himself, taking a moment to catch his breath before the vamp had chance to recover.

"You wanna dance like this all night?"

The vamp rolled his shoulders back. "Fucking hunters," he said, snarling like a rabid dog on a chain. "So cocky, think they own the world. You have no idea what we have to go through."

"Oh, you mean killing innocent people?" Dean scoffed. "Listen, buddy. I ain't interested in your sob story."

"Straight to the point. I like your style."

Dean barely had time to blink before the vamp was in his face again, dark eyes hardened with hunger and frustration all at once. He swung the blade forward, catching the corner of the vamp's throat. Blood sprayed from the wound like a faulty urinal, blinding his sight for just a second. The pointy-toothed bastard didn't so much as flinch.

"Hm," he snickered. "That tickled."

Dean dodged another fist and rolled to the floor, catching the vamp by surprise. Before he got a chance to turn, Dean kneed him in the lower back and sat on his legs, using his weight to keep the vamp down. Unkempt nails reached behind to claw at his arms, but Dean was too quick. The blade glided through the cold flesh of the vamp's neck, dribbling dark blood over his hands. A gargled scream escaped the monster's lips, screeching through his body like a rusty gate, before Dean snapped his spinal cord clean in half. His severed head bounced into the mud face down, free from the butchered remains of his oozing body. Dean wiped his bloodied hands on the vamp's jacket and tossed the blade aside.

"Still tickle, bitch?"

With the vamp dead, and the coast supposedly clear, Dean dropped the macho act and rushed to Cas' side. He was unconscious, with a deep gash running from his right brow to top of his cheekbone. Dean cradled his head in his lap and grabbed his hand.

"C'mon, Cas," he muttered under his breath. "Don't do this to me. Don't you fucking do this to me. C'mon, man. Open your eyes. Wake up."

Cas' heart fluttered weakly beneath his hand, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Dean slipped off his jacket and pressed it against the bleeding cut on Cas' face. He didn't realise his hands were shaking until he brushed a sweaty lock of hair out of Cas' closed eyes. There was a thickness in his throat - a combination of tears and pure panic - and Dean could feel himself quickly tumbling over the edge of hysteria. He couldn't discern Cas' blood from the vamp's. Everything was a blur, a buzzing rush of confusion flying past his head. He didn't know what to do. He was lost. Five minutes ago, he was ready to tell Cas the truth about his feelings, and now the man he loved was lying unconscious in his arms. How the hell had things gone South so quickly?

"You've gotta get up," he said, his voice hitching slightly. "I've got something to tell you, remember? Don't leave me hanging like this. It's pretty fucking important. You can't go dying on me, Cas. Not now. It's not too late. It _can't_ be too late..."

Something wet and hot rolled down his cheek, and Dean realised he was crying. He scrubbed the tears from his face with the back of his hand, biting his bottom lip to keep the sobs at bay. The coppery taste of blood was sharp on his tongue. He closed his eyes and laid his head against Cas' chest, muffling his cries against the battered trenchcoat the guy still insisted on wearing on every hunt. The stains would be a bitch to get out. He'd have to use vinegar on the dried blood, maybe some lemon juice to mask the stink. Cas hated the acrid smell of vinegar. Dean pictured the scrunched up face he'd pulled the first time he'd smelt it, the way his nose had wrinkled in disgust. He couldn't help smiling at the memory.

"Please, Cas," he whimpered. "I need you, man. I _need_ you. Please don't leave me. Not again. Don't you fucking leave me again."

A gasp shuddered through Cas' body, his brow creasing with pain. Dean lifted his head and propped Cas up against his chest. He could feel his breath picking up, his heart beat climbing like machine gun pops. Dean pressed his hand against Cas' cheek and swept his thumb across his clammy skin.

"Hey," he said with a crooked smile, shaking Cas' shoulders gently. "Hey, Cas. It's me. It's Dean. Open your eyes, buddy. C'mon, Cas. Open your eyes. You're okay. I've gotcha. Open your eyes, Cas."

Cas' eyelids fluttered, then opened with a groan. A pair of steely blue eyes blinked up at him, searching Dean's face with their typical, Cas-like dubiousness. Dean spluttered a laugh and grinned. Cas was alive. He was awake, and he was fine.

"Dean?" Cas said, his voice wrecked with pain and confusion. "What... What happened? The, the vampire -"

"I got him," he said soothingly. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"Who's lying on the ground right now?"

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"He fucking _threw_ you, Cas," he said, sniffing hard. "You could've died."

"Really, Dean. I'm okay."

"I almost lost you again."

Cas shook his head. "That's not going to happen."

"No," Dean said, cupping the back of Cas' neck with a shaking hand. "It's not."

And with that, he pulled Cas forward, brushing their lips together in a delicate, barely-there kiss. He could feel Cas stiffen beneath him, but Dean kept on going. He slid his tongue across the seam of Cas' lips and slowly pushed in, stifling the sob at the back of his throat. He was overwhelmed by a sea of swirling emotions; it was too much to hold back. Another tear slipped down his cheek, its saltiness mingling with the sweet taste of Cas' mouth. He stroked his knuckles across Cas' jawline and pulled back, licking his lips to chase the ghost of Cas' touch.

"Dean," Cas said thickly. "You, you just... Why did you do that?"

Dean pressed a closed fist against his mouth, his eyes refusing to meet Cas' questioning gaze. What if he saw disgust staring back at him? Or, even worse, _pity_? He wasn't sure he could stand the rejection, not after getting a taste of what he'd been missing out on for all these years.

"Well," he cleared his throat. "The thing is, you see... I'm kind of in love with you. That's why."

Cas' mouth parted slightly, his eyes turning wide.

"That's what me and Sam really talked about the other week," Dean said, determined to get everything off his chest before his courage drained away. "He said I loved you, and he was right. I have for years. That's why I give you such a hard time. I don't... I'm fucking terrified of getting too close to you, 'cause I know how much it hurts when you're gone. I didn't wanna let myself love you, in case you left me again."

Cas' bottom lip wobbled. "I told you, Dean. That's not going to happen."

"You've said that before. Every sorry sonofabitch in my life has promised the same thing, and now they're all gone. You and Sam, and mom... You're the only ones still standing."

"I intend to be standing with you until the very end," Cas said, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "For as long as you'll have me."

Dean's throat rippled. "I'm so sorry, Cas," he said, the last of his self-control shrivelling up inside. He allowed Cas to guide his body closer, his chin hooking over Cas' shoulder as the ex-angel held him close. "I don't care about the mess, you idiot. I care about _you_."

Cas chuckled, the sound rumbling against his cheek. "I know, Dean. I know."

"But leaving your socks in the kitchen is still fucking gross."

"Yes, I understand that now."

"Don't pull that shit again."

"I won't."

"You promise?"

Cas leaned back to catch Dean's eye, his smile slowly growing into a full-on grin. It was a rare sight, one that made his heart stutter in his chest. He imagined waking up to it every morning. It hadn't seemed possible until this very moment, but now the world was different. Something had slotted into place, and everything suddenly seemed right.

"I promise," Cas said, wiping away the rest of his doubts and concerns with another kiss. It wasn't a pact made in blood, but it may as well have been. Dean had never felt more sure about something before in his life.

And when they stumbled into the bunker later that night - covered in blood and dirt from head to toe, their hands clasped together - Sam didn't say a word.

His job was already done.


End file.
